Music
by Liebling
Summary: ‘It's like looking back at your life, he knows, it's like never wanting to go back.’ (Percy&Fleur)


_Pantaloon: Heaven take my bones. England keep my soul? _

_~ The Nutcracker Prince_

**Author's Notice: **No, I'm not terribly fond of this but I've given it a go!  Woo!  Anyway, this is for Toasty who's terribly into Percy/Fleur.  Her birthday was yesterday.  Happy Birthday!  Hopefully this fic is sort of melancholy.  It's sort of random and denies all logic.  Oh, and by the way, writing this was like drawing water from a well that has no water.

_xo_

_xo_

_xo_

_He had never really been in love_, he thinks.  There was Penelope way back when.  He doesn't remember much, only that it didn't last long. She was a Ravenclaw, but she didn't know about love.  He was a Gryffindor, and he didn't know either.  His family teased about her, it was funny thinking of him with a girlfriend. Funny and unusual. He didn't think it was funny.

_She had never really been in love either_, she thinks. 

It wasn't a twist of fate, he knows.  He wasn't anything special, she knows.  She was pretty, they all know.  And he had evil snug inside of him, they all know.

No one took notice when he came up to her.  He was wondering what her school was like. She told him it was like any other school, just maybe a bit darker. He likes the dark.  She says this school is strange and he says: 'Maybe just the people.'  

He's back at Hogwarts when he'd rather not be here. The Ministry sent him and they're always sending him to silly places like this. He remembers what it was like to _be_ here and to _live_ here and to want to get out of _this _place.  It's like looking back at your life, he knows, it's like_ never _wanting to go back.

She's staring at him, waiting for more questions. He likes asking questions, he just doesn't like talking. He wonders if that makes sense.  The music stings his ears, he's not used to this sort of poppy music. He wishes it would all just go away--maybe even all the people, _just not her_.  

Everyone looks so happy, he can tell. They're smiling and laughing and dancing and their hands are linked.  _Just wait...he thinks...just wait until you grow up._  Sometimes, it's like he's been grown up for so long he can't even remember being a child.  He remembers the lighting of this Great Hall, the scattered candles; the colors swirled together to make a twisted sort of custard pudding.  The music stops for a second, and he wishes it wouldn't because he's _sort of_ fond of it now and he's _sort of_ even smiling. He sees his brother, eyeing that _other_ girl. The one who isn't his date.  

She says she has a date, and he should've thought of that. Although it's really just a conversation and only a few lines have been said.  He's not used to talking to random people, especially not people like_ this_.

He wishes he had a date, and _maybe_ even her.  Then they could go on talking about her school, and maybe even her hair if she wanted to talk about it.  He remembers the ball at the end of his seventh year and he didn't go_.  He misses that; he wants his time back._

Time is passing quickly now and they're still talking. He'd like to talk about her school more, it's interesting, the history and the present and old places.  She asks about his school, about the ghosts. 'Oh I don't go here anymore,' he says, _'that was a long time ago.'_

And it was too, he thinks.

He's sipping pumpkin juice and it just smells like **Christmas**.  He remembers drinking this, now he just sticks to water and sometimes mead.  It smells like home, it's obscure being here.  Almost like being back at home after a very long journey.

The music is getting to him now and he doesn't know why. It makes your feet want to start moving and your eyes start sparkling. Her eyes are already sparkling, he knows.  He wishes his eyes did that.  Penelope's eyes never did that.  She looks tired and now that he thinks of it--he's sort of tired to and perhaps he's had too much talk than usual--and--

'Would you like to dance?'

And they do.

The music continues playing and he's not sure of the tune. Sort of mournful and sad and he can't make out the words.  He's never done this before and wonders how he got this many years of his life finished with--and never done this.  It's a nice feeling, being close to someone. He's forgotten what being close to someone felt like.  They're talking in whispers now and he accidentally steps on her foot.

'Sorry,' he mutters, 'I'm sort of new at this.'

She smiles and it lights up her whole face 'It's okay,' she whispers, 'I'm sort of new at this too.'

The song stops and he's sorry to hear it end.

*****


End file.
